


Jersey Memories

by softkent (SalazarTipton)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Family Dynamics, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), M/M, Reminiscing, Uniforms, kink bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 15:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10665351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalazarTipton/pseuds/softkent
Summary: When Jack goes home to Montreal for break and just wants to get his assignments finished, but his parents keep giving him chores. When his mom sends him to look through his old jerseys, he gets lost in some old memories.





	Jersey Memories

Jack misses his friends and Samwell during breaks, but it’s nice to spend time with his parents, be in his room again, be back in Montreal. Though with all the nice family time and easy familiarity there are still the little annoyances. He had two researches papers due after break...two weeks after break, but he still wanted to get them done before he was back at the Haus with all its distractions. Jack should have known his time wouldn’t be his own.

There were little things to get down around the house that could have easily been done by his parents, but they always seem to save them all for when he was home. They don’t start bothering Jack until about the third day in. 

“Jack, would you mind putting the clothes in the dryer when they’re done? I’m headed to the store!” Jack stops typing and yells back down the stairs. “ _ Ouais, Maman! _ ” 

After this, he can just get back to his paper. Maybe he could even finished it before dinner so he can spend the night watching a movie with his parents or something. 

“Jack, could you get the ladder and change that bulb that’s out above the front door?”  _ “Ouais, Papa!” _

“Jack, would you mind helping me hook up the Netflix account with the SmartTV?” _ “Ouais, Papa!” _

“Jack...Jack...Jack…”

He changes his mind. He hopes to just get one paper finished this break--maybe even finish a reading a book if he’s lucky. 

Jack saves his document, closes his laptop, and makes his way downstairs to help with dinner. He sets the table while Papa stirs the large pot on the stove and his mom pours them each a glass of wine. 

They all sat down with their plates full and their glasses half empty The conversation is smooth and familiar. Papa had been playing with some of his buddies on a rink in town and is going out again tomorrow. Maman has a meeting with her assitant tomorrow about a function she’s attending, and Jack couldn’t be happier at the prospect of having all of tomorrow to finish up this assignment. 

The food is as good as always, although he does feels a tug back to Samwell when they have their usual ice cream for dessert instead of one of Bitty’s pies or other sweet concoctions. Papa pours himself another glass of wine and tops off Maman’s before they clear away the dishes together. 

“Jackie, I know you have that assignment to finish, but if you wouldn’t mind, could you go through the closet in the trophy room to see if you can find your first jersey? I want to get it framed. It won’t take you too long,” Maman asks over the  _ shhhh _ of the water. 

Jack tries to hide his grimace. “Sure.”

Papa grabs his cheek lightly. “Stop looking like it's a death sentence. I know that damn closet is filled to the brim, but you’re strong. You’ll be able to climb your way out of an avalanche!” he jokes. 

It makes Jack smile a little. Papa claps him on the back while Maman tries to defend her hoarding habits of all of Jack’s old hockey gear from old jerseys to skates that won’t ever fit again to the first stick Jack broke. They keep chirping her until the dishes are in the dishwasher and she’s finished her wine. 

“Fine, fine! You boys laugh all you want, but when you retire, you’ll appreciate having all these little memories around. We’ll see who’s laughing when you show your kids how tiny your first skates were!” Maman says to them, hiding a smile behind her words as she makes her way up the stairs to bed. 

The soft click of his parents’ door’s latch is what wake’s Jack up in the morning. He’s always been a light sleeper which turns into the bane of his existence during roadie and kegsters. Usually, Jack would slide out of bed once his eyes were open, but today he decides to wait until the shuffling downstairs dissipates and he hears the front door shut and lock. 

He pushes the blanket off and stretches out before getting up. On his way downstairs to get coffee, Jack thumbs through the SMH groupchat. Clearly over break everyone expect for him decided sleep schedule were a thing of the past. He had over 300 messages. He smiles to himself while getting his mug wondering if it would be too mean to have early practice their first day back. He could always just hint at it to scare the guys into getting a functional amount of sleep at least once this week. 

He blows on his coffee, trying to cool it a little faster as he opens the door to the trophy room. When Jack was little, he and Maman spent game nights in here watching Bad Bob on the T.V. surrounded by his awards, various special pucks, and jerseys. The little penguin with Papa’s number on its shoulder Jack held onto for each away game is still sitting there on the couch between the cushions. 

Jack sets his coffee down on a coaster and picks him up. He feels the thinning fabric of the flippers between his fingers. He tucks the plushie back into his spot and goes over to the closet. He braces himself as he slowly opens the door, ready for an avalanche of hockey gear. Thankfully, only one pucks rolls off the top shelf. He puts it back after reading the tape:  _ Jack’s first Juniors Goal. _

In no less than ten minutes, Jack is sitting on the floor with a pile of jerseys in front of him he’s convinced his mother somehow created out of her own imagination since he doesn’t remember half of these teams, let alone playing on them. In his hands, however, is a jersey he remembers each detail of as much as his current Samwell jersey. He traces along the letters on the back lightly:  _ Parson.  _

Jack can see the flash of this jersey zooming past him on the ice like it was happening right now, not all those years ago. He remembers seeing the front of it when they tapped helmets, the shoulder when they lined up together for drills, the blur of colors when they slammed into each other for a celly. Jack holds it up in front of him. It looks like it could still fit on Parse if he didn’t have pads on. He holds it to his chest when his throat starts to get tight and hugs it to himself. 

He tries not to remember pulling Kenny closer by the collar of this jersey for their first kiss in that empty locker rooms; he tries not to remember pulling it over his head during so many makeout sessions; he tries not to remember the time Jack wore this and only this on that roadie--tries not to remember the look on Kenny’s face, how soft and good and right it all felt that night. He tries to stop all those good times with Kent from coming back, but they flood his mind. Jack rubs at his eyes a little too hard when they start to sting. 

He never let himself relive those good times. During his recovery and therapy, they went over all the bad: the pressure, the anxiety, the inability to cope. Jack can’t remember the last time he let himself remember Kenny as Kenny, not Kent Parson, NHL superstar and asshole. They used to be so good together--on and off the ice. 

Jack never does get back to his assignment before his parents get back from their various activities. Everything is tucked back into the already overstuffed closet aside from the jersey Maman wanted, which was laid out next to the penguin on the couch, and Kent’s old jersey from the Q, which Jack was rubbing between his fingers while sitting on his bed with his phone next to him. 

He has Kent’s new number and he just wants to take a picture of this relic from their shared past and send it to him, but he’s trying to convince himself not to, only he can’t come up with any excuses. He presses the jersey to his face for a brief moment before picking up the phone. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments and leave a kudos if you enjoyed. <3
> 
> Feel free to come find me on tumblr: [softkent](http://softkent.tumblr.com/). My ask box is always open for comments, prompts, and so on!


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